


A Point Venture

by Prinzenhasserin



Category: Astreiant Series - Melissa Scott & Lisa A. Barnett
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, First Time, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-18
Updated: 2018-06-18
Packaged: 2019-05-12 23:37:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14737956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Prinzenhasserin/pseuds/Prinzenhasserin
Summary: After the return of the missing children, midsummer night celebrations are on. Will Rathe meet Eslingen again, or will he successfully bury his attraction under a thousand other distractions?





	A Point Venture

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sath](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sath/gifts).



> This is set after the events of the first book, and should seamlessly fit into canon :D Hope you enjoy! Many thanks to reconditarmonia for the excellent help!

“Done with the last of it?” Monteia looked into Rathe’s small desk space—technically an office for the senior Adjunct Point, but since this was the Point of Hopes it was lacking in space and was perhaps more akin to a cupboard than anything else. Rathe’s first instinct was to look at the clock, registering that it was indeed much later than he expected, and to cover the stacks of paperwork with his arms, as if that would shield them from Monteia’s judgement.

Instead of her usual sharp look, he was met with a tolerant smile.

"You should get yourself to the celebrations. The station is going to keep on working even without your boundless energy, you only have to leave some work for us to do—and the surintendant has been worried about your working hours since before you have been singlehandedly responsible for the return of every single lost child in the history of Astreiant. The work will wait."

Rathe had escaped the mob so he could put down his thoughts in the book properly. When he had finished with that quicker than he had hoped, he had turned towards the work that had been laid aside during and after the kidnappings. None of it was urgent, and yet he felt reluctant to return to the festivities and watch Eslingen be courted by the entirety of the city.

"Coindarel will get all the credit, as is his due. I was just doing my job— and without him we wouldn’t have managed to restrain Timenard, let alone rescue the children," Rathe admitted reluctantly.

"Yes, yes," Monteia said, and waved him off. "Nothing you do is ever remarkable, I’ve heard it before— but what you may not have heard is this—" and then she laid a broadsheet on his desk, fresh from the printers if the smudged ink was any indication. Rathe frowned, looked at the woodcut adorning a halfpage. It looked like him, a caricature of a pointsman, followed by a pack of dogs. Two of the hounds were more distinct in the front: one white with the symbols of the necromancers on him, the other black, dressed in a soldier’s coat. Following along was a pack of dogs, wrapped in the banners of the royal regiment of the Prince-Marshal.

"Stars," Rathe could only say. "They must have carved this the minute we arrived at the city gates." His finger went over the fine details of the black dog’s coat, really an uncanny likeness to the real one.

Eslingen was much prettier in person, but he'd forgive the woodcutter: he wouldn't have been able to do him justice anyway.

Monteia grinned at his apparent discomfort. "Go on, join the celebrations," she said. "You need the respite anyway, and the surintendant demanded you get the week."

The surintendant could go hang, for all that Rathe cared. Rathe wanted to keep working, and not be ridiculed in broadsheets for trying to do his job—especially since the surintendant would use Rathe’s success as a political talking point. And Rathe was at a heart a leveller, who didn’t like that he had unintentionally provided such an excellent win to people he didn’t necessarily agree with. Even so—

"It's midsummer," Rathe protested half-heartedly. Midsummer was their busiest season, since the long days and heat and copious amounts of alcohol would go right to people’s heads. He really did need the rest, though, and maybe with a few days off he could save Eslingen from fathering the next generation of the League tavern’s children. Eslingen was a soldier, and wouldn't be able to take care of a son properly, even in Caiazzo's dubious service.

Rathe looked down at the broadsheet again— it really was uncanny to see himself in one of these. The white dog—Istre—wasn't as spot-on, but the pair of them really looked incredible. "Are there any more of these?"

"I sent one of the runners to buy more of them, so yes, I'm sure the city is inundated with them. The heroes who brought back all 85 children with barely a scratch on them. I'm sure you could do a lot with that kind of political capital. Or demand your choice in fees."

Rathe grimaced.

Monteia sighed, as if she had already predicted that kind of answer and was only mentioning the fees for the sake of her pocket's conscience. Rathe would never indulge her in this, though, and she had resigned herself to that. "Too bad," she said. "The surintendant sends his official commendation, by the way, with his official recommendation to give you a holiday, and it’s not like I can contradict the surintendant, can I? I don't want to see you back here until the fair has left the city—or a fours day hence, at least. Did you hear me, Rathe?"

"Loud and clear," he said. "No getting caught in the office until the day after Midsummer, at least."

She laughed again, which only showed how much goodwill he had garnered from closing the case, because otherwise she'd have had scolded him to high heavens. "And get yourself a coat at the festivities— by the grace of Astreiant, this one isn’t fit for a pensioner’s rags, let alone a sufficient uniform for a pointsman."

"It's great for undercover work," Rathe protested again, yet again a bit half-hearted. It really was falling apart, and he'd already been looking for a proper coat, but it always took such a long time to break them in-- well, if he'd buy it now, it would be properly broken in by midwinter, and he'd need a broken-in coat by then.

"That may be so," Monteia said, clearly skeptical, "but it doesn't look as if I pay my adjunct points enough. I do know you have the money for a fancy second-hand coat, and the only thing that's stopping you is your fanciful notions of—" Monteia lowered her voice, which was idiotic, because everyone who spoke to Rathe for more than a quarter hour could tell his political leanings, "—levelling."

"I'm not the only leveller at the station," he told her.

Monteia squirmed and didn't admit to anything. "Only the most obvious," she said, dropping a hand awkwardly on Rathe’s shoulder in an attempt to show her support, and then left towards her own dealings.

He closed the last of the files and dropped them off at the front desk—if Monteia was forcing him to go home and take a vacation, then she could also do Rathe's work for him— and took his ratty looking coat from the hamper. It looked shabbier than usual; even the dock rats would probably turn up their noses at the lining. At this point, it was more patches than real cloth.

Rathe didn’t like to go to the seamstresses. He had always left it for the  last minute, until his coat was too patched up to be admitted into any shop along the wharf side, even while Rathe had the coin to get one made. One former lover had accused him of hiding behind his coats, of deliberately misleading people about his background. His coat was very useful for infiltrating, that was true, but Rathe didn’t have an unlimited clothing budget (or even one that accounted for a new coat every year. Rathe was happy with just the one.)

He eyed Voillemins’s coat next to the one Monteia had made him wear. Voillemin’s coat couldn’t be mistaken for anything but solidly middle class, but the other one had been adequate. Although it hadn't fit him perfectly, it had looked nice enough—maybe he should just get a pre-made one and let someone alter it to his measurements? It would also not necessitate the involvement of a real seamstress. Rathe had never met anyone of that profession who didn't have an uncommonly invested relationship to the clothes people were wearing. A sempster would probably do, right—an apprentice seamstress even.

Crossing the yard, he was only half aware of the few people in it. He was exhausted, which was no wonder considering how little sleep he’d been getting on the road, with 85 children missing. Now the children were home, like Asheri who was sitting on the wall stitching up buttons for the laundry and getting much less than her fine work deserved.

 

The street outside the station was busy, with a lot of people on their way to and from the fair. Rathe could see plenty of the usual haunts, people who knew him, double-take upon seeing him pass by. Some of them waved, some of them loudly shouted their appreciation, and others clapped his shoulder in passing. He felt like burrowing his head further into his coat and hiding in the backstreets, but that wouldn't help much either, and so he took the long intimidating strides he had learned in the Point of Knives to pass through unbothered by the masses. It helped only marginally.

Eslingen, in the short while he had accompanied Rathe, had shown much better crowd control skills. Rathe wondered if it was just the way he had dressed, because Eslingen’s presence was unobtrusive otherwise. Except that wasn’t it either, was it? Eslingen could be very intimidating without much effort at all.

"Steamed buns!" a woman shouted, jostling him out of his thoughts. Rathe evaded her expertly, right into the path of one of the Quentier’s pickpockets. Mindful of Monteia’s admonishment, he shot her an annoyed look, which she replied to with a cheeky curtsy.

He arrived home soon after. Contrary to what Monteia believed, he did own two coats. The one he was wearing now had been bought years ago, when Monteia had first introduced him to the surintendant. He hadn't bought the nicest coat he could have afforded back then, and had instead gone for secondhand. Now, the coat was made of more patches than cloth, but the enviable thing about it and the reason he hadn't bought a new one —its many secret pockets—would not be easy to recreate. In fact, that was probably what he'd pay most of his money for, were he to engage a proper seamstress.

The expense wouldn’t be worth it. Not even for a compliment from—

A knock on his door interrupted his thoughts. He went to open it in his undershirt, leaving the coats on his table. Jhirassi, apparently fresh from the theater, still spotted with bits of makeup, grinned at him. "The hero of the day!" For some reason, the appellation was easier to swallow from a friend.

"Nay, what am I saying, the hero of the year, probably!" Jhirassi corrected himself, and then went in for a out-of-the-blue hug. "Congratulations on finding the children. May I play you when the entire adventure gets written into a play?"

Rathe, who had grasped his friend by the elbow in an attempt not to get swallowed up by his enthusiasm, grimaced. "Oh dear, I hope not. I hope you’re going to be cast as the brave Prince Coindarel, who rescues us all."

Jhirassi laughed. "Do I detect a hint of bitterness in your voice, my friend?"

"Not at all," Rathe said, and didn’t think about Eslingen’s relationship with his former general. He stopped thinking about Eslingen in general, as that led nowhere good, and focused on regaling his friend with the real story of what had happened.

Jhirassi knew when to insert the appropriate noises, and was a very appreciative audience. He seemed to be doing very well, and even on an actor’s salary was as well dressed as usual. By the time Rathe came to tell the part where Monteia kicked him out of the office for a vacation, Jhirassi could only laugh. "I’m very sorry that this is such a busy time for an actor," he said. "Otherwise I’d take the opportunity to get you thoroughly sauced at Wicked’s—she’s been asking after you, by the by. If you stop by, I’m sure you’ll be getting a free drink."

"That sounds excellent," Rathe said, fiddling with the buttons on his undershirt. "Say, Jhirassi, do you know where I can get a coat?—not too expensive, I want to pay someone for modifications."

Jhirassi stopped laughing, and instead comically widened his eyes. "Did my ears hear correctly?" he asked. "Are you thinking of buying a new coat?" he continued teasing, but then relented, and gave Rathe directions to the second-hand clothing store he himself frequented.

Soon, Jhirassi had to leave for another performance, and Rathe took the opportunity to leave himself.

 

His feet led him to Wicked's, where he realized that, yes, he was hungry, and he should probably have invited either b’Estorr or Eslingen, to thank them for joining him on this madcap adventure.

Wicked greeted him warmly when he came into the pub, and let him into one of the fancier booths. "There's Andalusian wine for saviours of children, and it's on the house for heroes of Astreiant, and you're going to like it," she said, obviously in a rush to get back to the kitchen--but before she did, she wiped her hands on her apron, and grabbed Rathe out of the blue, to squeeze the life out of him. "One of those kids was my nephew, and he was all-set for a great apprenticeship at the apothecary. Thank the stars you managed to bring him back."

Rathe was unprepared to meet Eslingen. He had been hidden in the far-east corner of the pub, behind the privacy curtains, and only the waiter appeared to know that there was only Rathe behind the curtain. Wicked hadn't asked him before she sent Eslingen over, and Rathe hadn't been prepared to see the soldier again so soon. He was wearing a new coat, and his hair was very straight and shiny, as if he had spent some time brushing it. It was very cliched, but his beauty hit Rathe like a well-aimed clockstrike. Stars, was Eslingen pretty. Admittedly, it might have been the three glasses of free wine Wicked had brought over, which Rathe felt too poor to resist. But still, there was something mesmerising about the Leaguer’s beauty, and it was no wonder he served well with Coindarel— he had that presence, that polite standing at attention, and Rathe wondered, had always wondered, how that would translate into his presence in the bedroom.

He must have looked befuddled, or worse, because Eslingen took his astonishment at seeing him in quite the wrong way.

"The proprietress—" he said, "I can go to a different table, Wicked led me here— maybe she assumed we were meeting?"

"You can sit with me," Rathe said, trying to hide his obvious pleasure. He would not mind at all if Eslingen joined him for a meal, or two, or three. "The company will be very welcome."

And indeed it would.  He felt his eyes go half-lidded and it took conscious effort not to say anything about the way Eslingen's coat fit. When he took it off and hung it next to the private booth, Rathe had to swallow. The shirt he was wearing was embroidered by a deft hand, and although Eslingen was surely not its first owner, it hugged his shoulders and pectoral muscles like it had been made for only him. The embroidery was reminiscent of horses, somehow, and it fit him so well, and yet the only thing Rathe wanted to do to it, do to him, was take the shirt off. It was dangerous to think like that. Eslingen had been joking about the daughter of the League Inn only the day earlier, and while Rathe felt like Eslingen went for male company if he had the choice at all, there was no telling if Rathe was wrong, or if Eslingen went for male company that did not include poor pointsmen who looked like Rathe.

Why was he even contemplating this? He took another sip of Wicked's wine, which was delicious.

"Free food and wine for the heroic defenders of justice and peace," Wicked said, and brought along another cup and bowl.

Rathe noted that unlike the cup and bowl she had brought him, Eslingen's was made from copper—he also warranted her good knives. Wicked was looking at him, daring him to comment, but Rathe had to smile instead. Wicked would have been a great leveller had she been born under different stars, and her teasing never slipped into malicious.

Eslingen sat down, and fell upon the bowl of stew like he had been starving. Rathe followed his movement with his eyes, fascinated at the speed with which the soldier shovelled down the food on his plate.

Midway through his bowl of food, Eslingen slowed down. He didn't visibly straighten, but somehow his posture grew more poised, his movement took on an elegant polish that hadn't been there before. Rathe had to smile. It was almost seductive, if Rathe hadn't been more drawn to his rarer, more unpolished moments--but now, he was simply charmed by it all. Rathe's own foibles were much less harmless, both in the long and the short term.

"Did Wicked give me the more elaborate kitchenware on purpose?" Eslingen had paused, spoon halfway to his mouth and was eyeing their surroundings in a suspicious manner.

Rathe smiled faintly. "We go way back," he said. "Wicked wouldn't insult me by giving me the fancier set." It was commonly known, that Rathe regularly didn’t take the fees he was entitled to, and his friends tried to spare him the ignominy.

Eslingen inspected the spoon he was holding, looking faintly puzzled. Then, he asked, "It's an insult?"

"For you? No," Rathe answered. "But for someone who doesn't appreciate the finer things in life..." he trailed off.

Eslingen stared at him, then let his gaze drop down to Rathe’s shabby shirt, over to his ratty coat. "I don't understand, exactly," Eslingen began, then lost his courage. He stuck another mouthful of soup into his mouth in lieu of answering, and chewed. "--does it have to do with you being a leveller?"

"Probably," Rathe shrugged. "Or else I'm never going to be worth the expense."

"Not that you want to be."

"Not that I want to be." Rathe agreed.

"So your coat is also a statement piece," Eslingen said, frightfully frank even in his quiet undertone. Eslingen in private was much less reserved than the one in public—and Rathe appreciated his blunt candour, especially when it came in such a lovely package.

"No," Rathe said, and smiled. "It's definitely not because of my coat." He leaned back, against the comfortable cushions, and spread out his arms against the back of the seats.

Eslingen froze midway through setting back his cup on the hard wood of the table. He seemed perturbed, somehow surprised—Rathe didn’t know what had spooked him so. "I didn't know you could smile like that," he said, finally.

He looked down at his hands, then back up at Rathe. Uncertain? Had Rathe come on too strong? He was strictly one for women after all, then.

Rathe stopped smiling. "Have I made you uncomfortable?" he asked. "I apologize." He smiled self-deprecatingly, taking out a few coins to leave on the table, despite Wicked’s offer of free food. She was running a business, after all, and wouldn’t mind his donation if he wasn’t present any longer to scold.

"No," Eslingen stood up in protest. He held out his hands as if to hold onto Rathe. He really was too pretty and polished for his own good— Rathe was sure he wasn't aware of how enticing his general behaviour was. Rathe shouldn't be thinking about it anyway, since he'd put Eslingen quite squarely into the realm of people he should definitely not be sleeping with. A man with his demeanour would do well in the entourage of Caiazzo and while Rathe would be glad of Eslingen’s wellbeing, he couldn’t be having a permanent lover who was in league with the criminal set.

"Is there something else?" Rathe asked, mildly, knowing that asking the question would make Eslingen reluctant to demand anything from him. That, the military must have trained into him—or maybe that had been a character trait he had all along. The urge to please people was strong, and Rathe wondered if that would extend to the bedroom—just like he wondered how other character traits of Eslingen translated into the bedroom. He really should be keeping his mind out of the gutter, because surely that wasn't why Wicked had led the soldier over to further their acquaintance.

It had been too long since Rathe had a proper companion in his bed, and maybe this was a sign from the stars that he should be looking for one--someone other than Eslingen, if only for his peace of mind.

"No," Eslingen answered finally, but he didn't look pleased about it. He prevaricated a bit by playing with his spoon, then said, quietly, maybe so that Rathe could ignore the request. "Will I be seeing you again?"

Rathe straightened, looked down into his eyes because for once Eslingen was beneath him, still halfway sitting on the bench. "Why would you want to?" he asked, turning the question back around.

Eslingen looked away, let go off his spoon until it fell, clattering, into the bowl. "Never mind, then," he said. He hid his feelings well, but there was still a tinge of disappointment, as if he had expected, nay, banked on a different answer.

"As a pointsman, I shouldn’t—" Rathe tried to explain, but that was not all of it, and he didn't want to make Eslingen even more aware of how much influence the soldier might have on him. It was better this way, Rathe thought, if he didn't embroil Eslingen even more into the politics of Astreiant, especially since he planned to leave soon on campaign. Caiazzo’s was a better household to put him into, temporarily.

Eslingen kept looking down, and Rathe longed to see the silver of his eyes again. He was ashamed of himself when he noticed he had kept a hold on Eslingen's arm.

"I will be returning to the inn, at least to grab a drink with the proprietress,"Eslingen said, and looked up again. There was a plea there, and Rathe knew it was folly to promise him anything. He wanted though, oh, how he wanted. "If you would like to share a pint with me. I'd love to hear how the children are doing."

"I'll be there," Rathe said, and then wanted to turn back time to swallow his tongue.

He turned towards the door without taking his promise back, taking it as a sign from the stars, maybe. Maybe if he let himself indulge for a few moments, he would be able to let go of Eslingen. Maybe if he indulged in his desires, he'd see Eslingen as he really was, maybe he'd grow bored of him. Surely he couldn't be this enticing all the time.

Rathe made his way towards the market, and soon found the table of Mrs. Haversack, who sold the second hand clothes of nobles, where he'd found Eslingen not four days earlier. He did not know why he hadn't gone to his usual hauntings, why he had gone towards the place selling the cast-offs of the upper classes? Rathe would rather be dead than wear the smock of some noble fallen to hard times to need to sell of clothing of all things. He didn't need the silky discarded clothes of some weak-willed noble, he needed a coat that was durable. A soldier’s coat, maybe, but he didn't need the fanciful embroidery that would adorn the noble coats—if there even were some left for him to buy.

He could get a better coat at any of the usual establishments. It was vain, to think a coat like that would look good on him. He picked up the green coat, with the small embellishments, very tastefully done. "2 shillings, for that," the proprietress said, noticing his attention.

Rathe wouldn't seriously think about buying a coat that expensive, especially one that was basically useless for his everyday job. It would look very fetching next to Eslingen's military coat. Eslingen's coat was embroidered with the subtle details of the Prince Marshall Coindarel's coat of arms.  He looked at the finely wrought stars and dragons decorating the hems—and then looked for pockets and found none. That decided things towards the more practical. Mrs. Haversack noticed his lack of attention, and quickly said, "1 shilling, and it’s yours for the taking!"

But Rathe didn't even turn around when the price dropped to half. He was going to get himself a simple coat, that was all. A coat in dark grey, that would last longer in the mud and dirt of the river in the coming dark months. With pockets. He was going to buy a coat.

 

He didn’t plan on seeing Eslingen again without the buffer of their respective positions between them, to prevent himself from indulging in this crush. What he did instead was vain enough: He found a coat of his preferred type, the cut vaguely military in look but more importantly featuring an abundance of pockets, and went back towards the points station to collect his little seamstress’ apprentice.

"I thought I had told you I wouldn’t want to see you again until after the Midsummer festivals," Monteia said, and looked towards the clock. "Not five hours ago," she added, and Rathe would have felt abashed under different circumstances, but he hadn’t even tried to go back to his work yet. If he had come back to continue working, he would have found a damn good reason to pass by his determined Head Point—and he’d had convinced her of the need to keep him working immediately, instead of sneaking around.

"I need to borrow Asheri," he said, distractedly.

"When I tell you you’re not allowed to work, that includes sending out the runners on errants," Monteia said, exasperated and on her way to true anger.

Rathe made a gesture of peace—he wasn’t keen on provoking Monteia for no reason at all. "She is allowed her allotted free time for the festivities, still, is she not?" he asked. "I swear I’m not trying to work—just getting my household in order. I haven’t had the opportunity in quite some time, and I have a contract for her."

Monteia eyed him suspiciously, during which time the shouts from the inside of the station grew louder again. She rolled her eyes, waved him off and returned inside, leaving Rathe free to search out the young runner.

"I’ve bought a new coat," he told her without preamble, and she hunched further into herself. "Apparently one is sorely needed to present a uniform picture for the eyes of the surindentant and the regents," he rolled his eyes, and Asheri smiled, a bit, at least. "But it’s, you know, second hand, and could really use the hands of a talented seamstress. I’d be willing to pay market price for some additional embroidery, too."

"I couldn’t!" Asheri protested immediately. It was more emotion he had ever seen her express, and just as if she was embarrassed by her outburst, she looked around in case anybody had seen. Then, she leaned closer to Rathe. "It’s uncertified work," she explained, quietly.

"I’m not asking you to open a business," Rathe said, a small smile in his voice. And Asheri wasn’t wrong, they did have to collect point on quite a few uncertified seamstresses in the district—but she didn’t need a certification to fix something up for Rathe privately.  "It would be practise for you, and a new coat for me," he said. "And you’d really be helping me look better as a pointsman, which is the whole purpose of a runner, wouldn’t you say?"

Asheri deliberated, shyer now about offers that seemed too good to be true. "Let me see the coat," she said. "I’m not working with silk."

Rathe snorted. Asheri grinned at him, very happy to have elicited that reaction.

"Who do you think I am?" grumbled Rathe, halfheartedly.

Asheri scrutinised him, her eyes sharp as they travelled across his clothes. "You’re not trying to impress the Head Point, or the surintendant, that’s for certain," she said, with the bluntness of someone who hadn’t yet learned to swallow some truths.

Rathe shook his head, and smiled. "If you don’t have any more business at the station, you can accompany me to take a look at the coat that needs adjusting."

"There’s always other runners," Asheri said, and waved a quick good-bye to the only other girl.

Rathe wasn’t going to seek out Eslingen again—their respective jobs were on opposite ends of the city, in complete opposition besides. He wouldn’t be impressing Eslingen with a new coat, but maybe it was time to search for some other entertainment. It had been too long since he was in a stable relationship, and he’d quite nicely manoeuvred Eslingen into a position that was diametrically opposed even to starting a stable relationship.

Asheri, walking beside him, tried to contain her excitement, but she was as of yet unpractised with it—she continued with a skip in her step, and Rathe couldn’t help but smile again.

And then, they arrived at Rathe’s quarters, and Asheri tutted appreciatively over the coat.

"I’ll do it," she said. "It’s like you picked it out for a seamstress just starting out," she added, her sharp nature peeking through without following the thread of thought to the natural conclusion. Rathe distracted her by presenting her with the embroidery yarn the savvy saleswoman had talked him into buying.

Asheri weighed the skeins in her hand, eyed them the way a skilled astronomer would eye her stars, then said, "If you throw in the yarn, I’ll do it for 2 silvers before midsummer night." There was an unholy gleam in her eye. "Then you can impress whoever you want to impress."

"That’s…very fast for embroidery work," Rathe said, instead of protesting again that he wasn’t trying to impress anyone.

"It is," Asheri said, "and that’s why I won’t feel bad about accepting the two silvers. Don’t think I didn’t understand that you’re doing this for my benefit."

"I’m doing this for a great coat," Rathe said, mildly.

Asheri scoffed, and Rathe wondered if he should feel insulted about his sartorial choices. Probably, he decided, and let Asheri leave with her promise to bring it back soon.

"Let me take your measurements, and then I'm good to go," Asheri said.

 

Rathe would have liked to say he spent the remaining two days to the festival dutifully cleaning out his cupboards, and bringing his rooms up to a more liveable level, but instead he spent the time arguing with himself about Eslingen not being all that pretty, and the vanity being a turnoff. He managed to fix his bed, at least—it was simply an embarrassment how long Rathe had slept poorly on half-broken springs. Some of his day, he spent outside wandering the marketplaces, hiding from any tall, dark-haired soldier he saw. It was surprising how many of them weren't Eslingen. Each night, he prepared himself to go out and bring someone back to his rooms with him, to chase Eslingen off of his mind, and each night he came back home with empty hands, though not for lack of offers.

On the morning of midsummer, Asheri found him in his quarters again, carrying the coat with her. It looked like a brand new piece of clothing—the finely stitched embroidery in just a slightly different coloured thread making the cloth shimmer in the light of day. The coat looked expensive, and Rathe almost felt like a clothing piece that elaborate would look fake on him. Asheri didn't let him wallow in self-pity, however, and demanded he try the coat on immediately.

"Hm," she said, when he finally did so.

"It fits perfectly," Rathe said, and moved his arms. The coat hugged him in all the right places, and he could still manage to pull back his arms.

"Hm," Asheri said again. "Let's try it like this—" and she pinched together a piece of fabric, and suddenly the coat fit even better. Rathe hadn’t thought it possible, and was staring into the mirror in awe. The coat didn’t even bunch at the shoulders!

Asheri still didn't seem to be satisfied, and pinned one shoulder slightly up. "There," she said, finally. "Now it almost looks like it's been made for you."

Rathe watched himself in the mirror across his entrance way, and couldn't find any fault. "It's very well made," he said. The last time he had been at the tailor’s, he hadn’t gotten a fit like this.

Asheri grimaced. "With a bit more time, and a little more extra cloth, I could have done better," she said. "Try the pockets—the left one is slightly shorter than the right. And technically, it’s a bit looser than standard, but I know how you like to move around, so there’s that."

Rathe stuck his hands in his pockets, and they vanished entirely. The two side-pockets weren't the only ones Asheri had added—there were at least as many as the coat he had shown her. "It's not going to matter—" he told her. "If I use them, the balance of the coat will change either way."

"As a seamstress, I should be able to calculate that into my tailoring," Asheri said. "—But you may be right. It doesn't feel like I did my very best. It feels like a shoddy repayment for the excellent service you have done me, in rescuing me from that gold mine. And I am getting paid for it!"

Rathe laid a hand on her shoulder in reassurance. "I got paid for rescuing you, too."

"It's not the same, though," Asheri said, stubbornly. "You neither collected a fee from me nor my sister, and this stupid coat isn't going to do anything to clear that debt."

"Hey," Rathe said. "The city pays my fees. And you just did the work of a full blown seamstress, without any of the training, in just two days! If there ever was a debt between us, it is gone now."

Asheri burst into tears. Rathe, who had never needed to handle a crying woman past the point of handing her off to her nearest relative or friend, patted her back awkwardly, and went to find her a kerchief she could use to wipe her nose. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

"I am— just so relieved—" Asheri managed to say in between blowing into the piece of cloth Rathe handed her. "You can't believe how scared I was—and working on a coat for you—my sister was beside herself— I am very sorry for blubbering all over you, I swear I'm not usually this hysterical," she wiped her nose again. "I hope that soldier—Eslingen, wasn't it?—appreciates the coat. He should definitely appreciate you, even without the coat."

"I don't think—" Rathe tried to express his feelings about being linked to Eslingen quite that publicly, having never expressed his interest, even in the secrets of his own mind. But if even Asheri thought the two of them were at least a fling, what was the problem with making that belief the truth? If everyone thought he was already sleeping with Caiazzo's new bodyguard, what would the repercussions be, if he actually did sleep with him? But no, these fanciful castles in the air were only that—air. Eslingen, who could have the Prince-marshal if he wanted, would never settle for a poor pointsman with one good coat, and a bunch of rags.

In any case, the first order of business was the crying girl in his rooms, and so Rathe went to the kitchen to brew some tea.

 

Rathe accompanied Asheri home through the streets that were preparing for the midsummer festival. He told himself it was because people would talk if they’d see a crying girl leave his quarters, but it was only because he wanted to see the reactions his new coat gathered—and they were very satisfying reactions indeed.

On his way back, he took the long way over the fair grounds. They were already a hive of activity even though the sun was not all the way down, with people selling all kind of goods from the useful to the superfluous to the not-entirely-legal. The scent of fresh buns and cinnamon changed to grilled salmon as the winds shifted. A loud town crier advertised a play, and Rathe was sufficiently distracted to let himself be diverted into a rope-cordoned space that an actors’ group was using as a theatre.

For a few minutes, Rathe watched the actors play out scenes of the past few weeks of kidnappings, then felt too stupid about the entire thing, and pressed forward. The mob of people who pressed in on him, led him towards the bigger square, already prepared for the dance. Rathe let himself be talked into drinking a beer by a woman who, from the appearance of her dress, could afford it thrice over. When it became apparent that Rathe wasn’t looking for someone to share his bed, she flounced off towards more fruitful fields, and he could sit there, enveloped in the atmosphere, and enjoy his drink in piece.

Soon, his eyes strayed to one of the tall, dark-haired men again. This particular one had hair as long as Eslingen, even—in the exact shape of braid he favoured. Rathe thought that apparently Eslingen had already started a trend, until the person turned around, and happened to be the man himself. He was even more striking than the last time Rathe had seen him, now without the dirt of the road clinging to him.

"Ah," Eslingen said, when he noticed who was staring at him so. "Rathe. You are a difficult man to find."

"I didn’t know you were looking for me," Rathe answered, swallowing with some difficulty. Somehow, he’d forgotten in a few days how Eslingen could make him feel. He straightened, as he didn’t want to let himself get swept up in the festivities. Or perhaps, he should use the opportunity to let himself taste Eslingen, just for one day, so that he could get rid of this ache in his loins sooner?

"I went by the station, but the Chief Point said you were on holiday—I didn’t dare think of finding you until the festivities were over, but the stars aligned." Eslingen’s smile was blinding.

Rathe wanted give in; just this once, and then, tomorrow, sanity would materialise again, and he’d let the soldier go. He straightened his coat, an unconscious gesture. Eslingen’s eyes, that had been staring quite unabashed at his face, wandered down along his body. Surprised, he said, "You bought a new coat." It glittered in the lights of the fires that were burning in the iron bowls set up for easier control, lining the fair ground and providing their warmth and light to the festivities. Odd, that Eslingen, who liked clothes so much, had only noticed the coat now.

"It was time," Rathe said, and the words could almost mean something else, in the dim light and the strange timbre they were spoken in. Even Rathe, who had said them, didn’t know what they meant.

The moment lingered, extended until finally— "Would you lend me a dance?" Eslingen asked. He didn’t seem to certain asking, as if he was already prepared for a brush-off.

Rathe swallowed. He should say no, disavow any acquaintance they shared. He should stay far away from anyone in Caiazzo’s household, for simplicity’s sake, for the sake of his work.

"Yes," he said. And took Eslingen’s hand.

Rathe wanted to blame it on the alcohol, on the circumstance, on the stars at midsummer, that made life a little bit brighter, and his emotions less controllable, but he knew, in the end, it was all in his head. He had wanted Eslingen, since he had first seen him in public when he was a person of interest, in the Leaguer’s Tavern. He had been off-limits even then, if for slightly different reasons.

It was his presence, the quiet calmness that could explode into fierce protectiveness—everything about him was attractive to Rathe. He wondered at the way Eslingen presented himself as a gentleman, a story with very obvious holes. The way he reached out towards Rathe’s sort of justice, that went a long ways more towards levelling than most people were entirely comfortable with.

Rathe went with Eslingen, easily. He led the dance since apparently Eslingen was better schooled in following, and then they swayed between the beats of the music. Around them, the dancers were going much faster, doing complicated figures and twirls, but Rathe didn’t feel up to the complicated twists and turns, and neither did Eslingen.

Eslingen’s hair, his stature, his quick mind—it was all so beautiful. Rathe didn’t know how to resist it, resist him. If anyone could have built a construct to entice Rathe personally, Eslingen was pretty darn near it, and Rathe was unable to handle the overwhelming attraction, even when sober.

Within the atmosphere of the midsummer celebrations, the dancing, the drumbeat of the music that reverberated through marrow and bone, Rathe could let go of his own reluctance. He could stare into Eslingen’s eyes without distractions, feel up his arms in a way that wasn’t inappropriate, and he did, until Rathe felt entirely surrounded by Eslingen.

There were other couples present— Rathe could see them dancing, tightly entwined. Eslingen—or maybe Rathe himself—pressed closer. Rathe could feel the heat of Eslingen’s body next to his, could feel the warmth slowly enveloping him. It was hot and it was exhilarating, and he wanted more. He wanted to be closer still, he wanted there to be no clothes between them, skin on skin, dancing to their own rhythm.

Rathe closed his eyes and imagined the thing he had been repressing—he wanted Eslingen for more than just a dance. He didn’t care that Eslingen was working for Caiazzo. That didn’t feel real—yet Eslingen did. He felt solid underneath Rathe’s hands, and maybe their closeness now was moving too fast, maybe this would all end in tears, but for now, he didn’t care.

A hand went to his hair, tugged back the strands at his nape, quick enough that maybe Rathe could pretend it hadn’t happened. A furtive attempt to further their acquaintance, perhaps— Rathe tilted up his head obligingly. Eslingen seemed to agree on where they were heading.  "Kiss me," Rathe demanded, and Eslingen fulfilled the order, a small kiss appropriate for the publicity of the venue. The crowd hid them in anonymity, though, and much stronger crimes against public decency were being committed all around them.

Eslingen was gentle about the kiss, as he was about most things that didn’t involve the use of his illegal weapon. After the first, small kiss, a deeper one followed, and then yet another and Rathe could have easily sunken into it and not come up for air again. They were in public, though, and if this went much further Rathe would have to deal with the additional embarrassment of having to deal with one of his colleague’s reprimand. Not to mention that this was probably not the best venue for a relationship talk. He came up for air.

Eslingen looked like he’d expected it, looked like he was about to be sent home for a beating, and Rathe couldn’t bear that either.

"Would you like to accompany me to my lodgings," he said, his voice rough. He was strangely affected, for all that this had only been a little kiss. It was not Rathe’s first time making out in the middle of the plaza, and yet. Yet there was much riding on Eslingen’s answer.

"Yes," Eslingen said, and blinked slowly, like he had been under much more alcoholic influence than he was—Rathe could barely taste any on his breath. "Is there a bed?" he asked. "I want you to have me over a proper bed."

And it was no wonder the broadsheets had decided on calling Eslingen his black dog, when sleeping on a bed was his only demand before getting into bed with Rathe. The first few moments, Rathe couldn’t believe his luck—Eslingen must have gotten plenty of better offers, surely, the way he looked in his uniform. Then, inexplicably, his thoughts went to Jhirassi—oh, please, let him be gone for the entire night— and then, quickly every thought of propriety was chased away by imagining Eslingen in his bed, over his bed, spread out on his bed. He had been prepared to take someone home, at the start of the night, hoping against hope that it would be Eslingen. And now that it was…

"Sturdy, even," Rathe answered. "With clean sheets and a bottle of wine with our name on it." …he had to ruin it by being awkward about it.

Eslingen kissed him again. It was quick, and filthy—exactly how Rathe had hoped it would be. Seldom was he on one wavelength with his bedpartners like this, and now that he was, he didn’t want to let go. But they’d have to leave the square somehow, and Rathe would rather have none of the other guests know exactly what he and Eslingen had been up to.

So he straightened out Eslingen’s shirt, reluctant to let go of him for long enough to let him do so by himself. Eslingen seemed to be utterly entranced by a knife scar just below Rathe’s ear—it was very faint, Rathe felt like he'd had it longer than he'd been alive, but it turned out to be very sensitive when Eslingen used a fingernail to trace its edges.

"If you want to get there today, you have to let go sometime," Rathe said, roughly still.

"Yes," Eslingen answered, his voice husky. "Sure." He didn’t seem to be aware at all what he was saying, staring like Rathe had moved the alignments. It was soothing for the soul, considering the stares that Eslingen collected simply by being present.

Rathe took Eslingen by the hand, and slowly stepped away. "My rooms aren’t far," he said.

Eslingen nodded—and he really was too pretty for his own good. After just one kiss he was strangely pliant. Rathe could easily lead him around, and did so, to get him to his quarters in an efficient manner.

There was no awkward induction into his rooms, because once Rathe had him there, where he could ravish him without potentially incurring the wrath of patrolling pointsmen, he pressed him against the wall, and went to his knees.

Rathe fumbled with the laces of Eslingen’s pants, made more difficult by Eslingen pressing closer, hitching a leg over Rathe’s shoulder. For a brief moment, Rathe thought to stop this, but he was already in too deep. The only way to rescue his sense of dignity now was to finish, send Eslingen away and forget his brief lapse of judgement had ever happened.

Was this a great way of going into a liaison? The pants finally open, Rathe stopped thinking about moral obligations, political repercussions, or anything else but Eslingen. He took out Eslingen’s cock—it was half-hard, and just as pretty as the rest of him, long and with a surprising amount of hair.

When he looked up through his lashes, he could see Eslingen looking down on him, holding his breath. "You don’t need to use your mouth," Eslingen said, as if he had run the entire way.

It was a heady feeling, to have him so off-kilter, from nothing much at all. Rathe smiled, wrapped his hand around the length, and then kissed the tip with his mouth. He wanted Eslingen to fall apart around him. He looked so very good with his shift tucked out, but Rathe wanted to rough him up further, forget his calm and make him forget himself.

Eslingen made a noise somewhat recognisable as a moan, and Rathe took that as an encouragement. He pulled his shirt further up, for easier access to the pants, and reached out again. He swallowed around the head of Eslingen’s cock, and it felt warm and heavy in his mouth. He had always liked sucking cock, the power over the pleasure of his partner that it gave him, but sucking off Eslingen was a special treat. He didn’t stop making small, hitched noises, even though the soldiers Rathe knew rarely made extraneous sounds.

Eslingen raised himself further up the wall of Rathe’s hallway, leaning on Rathe’s shoulders and gently pulling on Rathe’s hair—it created easier access to his crotch. Rathe used the opportunity to lick further down, helping with his hands to pull a few times. It was still not the ideal location for a first orgasm, the lack of lubricant a snag in the proceedings.

Rathe didn’t want to stop sucking, however, and swallowed around the cock in his mouth again. Eslingen’s fingers clenched in his hair, tugged hard— then he let go and smoothed down the strands. “Sorry,” he panted. “Please don’t do that without warning, it feels too good.” 

It was the smell that got to him, and maybe the feeling of his knees on hardwood floors. His own cock was hard, too, and he loved the feeling of Eslingen in his mouth, his hands in his hair, abandoned in pleasure. Eslingen always looked pretty and composed, and now he still looked pretty, but much less composed, and Rathe had the sinking feeling that he would continue thinking up ways to mess up Eslingen’s composure, even when the man had left his bed again.

Rathe closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. He concentrated on the feeling of Eslingen in his mouth, he wanted more; and so he let the cock slide down the back of his throat.

Eslingen was—Rathe could only call it babbling, saying, “I can’t—please, please, let me come," reassuring at its best. Rathe could feel him seize up, and let go, accordingly. It would be hard to clean his hallway, otherwise.

“Perhaps we should adjourn to the bed?” he asked.

He received a groan for his trouble and a floppy hand gesture that told him exactly how on the edge Eslingen was, and how pleased he’d been about the interruption (not at all).

“If you mind me orgasming in your entrance way,” Eslingen managed to say, after getting his breath back. Out of breath and visibly panting, he added, "You should carry me into your bed." The demand was ruined by the silly grin in his face

"How about you carry me," Rathe said, and didn’t even try to stop sounding smug.

There was no carrying, though they leaned into each other to traverse the sheer insurmountable distance of the few lengths to Rathe’s bedroom. Eslingen furtively held onto Rathe’s ass, and while Rathe held the door open, maneuvred them into Rathe’s bedroom, where they spent the next few moments divesting each other of the rest of their clothes. Eslingen handled the coat reverently, and would not join Rathe on the bed until he had hung the masterpiece on a chair so it wouldn’t get crumpled. Then and there, Rathe decided that he’d only bring the coat out for special circumstances, maybe a visit to the theater at most.

"It’s just a coat," Rathe mumbled, trying to convince himself more than Eslingen because he’d never convince the vain soldier. He sank into the kiss Eslingen instigated readily, and full of abandon.

When Eslingen broke the kiss, Rathe had forgotten what they’d been talking about, and stared mesmerized into his eyes. In the low light, they looked even brighter than usual. "That’s just because you have no appreciation for how you look in it," Eslingen said. "It’s a great coat. You look edible in it."

Rathe raised his eyebrows. "Edible?" he repeated.

Eslingen smiled and made a sound of agreement, then started to prove his words with his actions, and went down on Rathe’s neck. It was very pleasurable, and Rathe’s mind went towards all the things they could be doing to each other.

“How do you want me?” The words were a murmur against his lips, and then Eslingen couldn’t seem to help but kiss them again.

His neck was tantalising, his tendons starkly visible in the shadowed room. “I want to mess you up,” Rathe confessed against warm skin. “I want to—you look good abandoned to pleasure. I want you in ecstasy.” From the way the kiss grew filthy, more tongue, more wetness, he inferred that Eslingen really liked the idea.

"I’d really like to make you come on my dick," Rathe said, suddenly overcome with the need to make his fantasies reality.

Eslingen sat up. "Sure," he agreed immediately, eager even. "Do you have oil?"

Once they had found it, near the bedside table where Rathe had put it in wise preparation even though he hadn’t actually thought he would get to use it, Eslingen prepared himself, under Rathe’s helpful instruction. He almost didn’t seem to want to move without Rathe narrating, and Rathe took shameless advantage to tell Eslingen, "Slower, just one finger at first."

He watched breathlessly, as Eslingen inserted his finger, slow as molasses. When he was in to the second knuckle, Rathe said, "Try crooking your finger."

Eslingen followed to the letter. He waited, his finger stretching him, for Rathe to tell him what to do. "You may add a second finger, now," Rathe continued. He held his breath, watching Eslingen slowly do as he said. When the second knuckle slid in, Eslingen groaned. "Please let me hurry up," he said. "I can’t hold out much longer." Rathe crept forward, and laid a hand on Eslingen’s knee. His legs were wide open, and he was trembling from trying to keep still.

"Okay," Rathe said, "You can add a third one. I’ll be watching." And while Eslingen stretched himself further, he stroked along the inside of Eslingen’s thighs. It didn’t help the trembling, but it was encouraging Eslingen to move faster. "There’s no need to go that fast," Rathe helpfully pointed out.

"Says you," Eslingen grumbled, and sank further down, trying to forcefully relax himself. "I’m going to burst if I need to keep it in much longer."

"No one is forcing you," Rathe said. "You can come any time."

Eslingen shot him a dark look. "I feel like I’m the only one benefitting from this arrangement, really," he said.

Rathe motioned towards his own cock, which was standing paying the utmost attention to the proceedings. "Really?"

Eslingen looked towards the side. "I want to come on your dick, or not at all," he said, and really, how was Rathe supposed to let this one go? He’d be a fool to. But that was what he was, after all, a fool.

A brief flash of putting Eslingen’s tall stature to good use flashed through his mind. Rathe would demand that he’d sit still, and he’d ride him towards completion without allowing him to move—but he shelved that idea for later, when they were more practised at this.

Rathe managed to spill oil all over his fingers when trying to lube up, and had to spend a few minutes trying to clean up after himself. Eslingen watched in bemusement.

Finally, Rathe could focus on bringing pleasure to Eslingen again. His hands slipped over Eslingen’s shoulders, and he dragged him closer still—they were at a perfect height difference to kiss, and so they did. Then, with Eslingen still on top, Rathe lined up his cock, and slowly pressed inside.

Eslingen was trembling, more from holding his position than actual exertion. Rathe slipped his hands further down, over the curve of his ass and upper thighs. They went slowly, in deference for the act, until Eslingen sank down fully.

Rathe bucked up into the tight heat, and Eslingen let out a groan. He continued moving. It was pure bliss, and their respective positions provided Rathe with an excellent view of the proceedings. Eslingen was a vision, rocking on his cock. He really couldn’t contain his noises, and when Rathe encouraged his rhythm, the wrinkle between his eyes scrunched up. Rathe flipped them over, and drove into him faster. Eslingen had already been right on the edge, and Rathe could feel his balls drawing up— then Eslingen was coming, squeezing his cheeks and driving Rathe to orgasm as well.

Eslingen was even more pliant after a good fucking, and Rathe could arrange him however he wanted on the bed. He contemplated kicking him out right away, and then figured he was already in deep trouble, so why not let him stay until morning. Eslingen fell asleep quickly. Rathe curled into his side. His hair looked really silky, feathered out against the pillow. Rathe extended his hand, and the hair felt very silky too—he fell asleep stroking it.

 

"Hey," Rathe woke to Eslingen just a sliver away from his face. He had already dressed in yesterday’s clothes. "I’m sorry to wake you."

Rathe groaned, then grabbed his neck close to press a kiss against his mouth. In deference to morning breath, he kept his mouth closed, even though he wanted nothing more than to kiss Eslingen thoroughly.

"I thought I should say farewell before I disappear," Eslingen said. "I don’t want to burden you unduly with providing breakfast."

Rathe had thought about kicking Eslingen out before they would  have to continue into domestic life of morning breakfasts, but to hear it said like that was strangely hurtful.

"I had fun," Eslingen continued.

"Me too," Rathe managed.

"We should do it again sometime." His voice was very casual, but his eyes looked hopeful, and Rathe didn’t have it in him to say they shouldn’t do this anymore. He grumbled an agreement into his pillow instead.

"See you soon," Eslingen said, and pressed another close-mouthed kiss on him. Then, Rathe could hear steps in his rooms, and the door to the bedroom closing.

He stretched out in his bed, and covered his eyes with his arms. This wasn’t how he would want this to go, was it? His head hurt.

Before he had really justified it to himself, he got up, naked as the day he was born, and ran towards the hallway. His leg twitched with the unexpected effort after the heavy exertion last night, but he managed to catch Eslingen in the doorway.  
"Wait," he said.

Eslingen turned around. He looked like— Rathe swallowed. He was still beautiful, even after a night partying, early in the morning when the stars were watching over them. Rathe didn’t feel like the stars had watched over them, and Eslingen looked similar.

"Breakfast?" Rathe asked.

"…we shouldn’t," Eslingen said after a quiet pause that felt much longer.

Rathe noted that it was "shouldn’t" and not "didn’t want" and felt much more hopeful.

"It was a lapse in judgment," Eslingen continued. "You already managed to get me a new job after my last lapse in judgment, I don’t want to presume on your time again."

Under different circumstances, Rathe might have smiled to be compared as a lapse of judgement to killing a man in selfdefense—but Caiazzo was a part, if not the criminal element of the city Rathe had sworn to protect. They shouldn’t have—but they did.

"We can’t disavow knowing each other," Rathe said, and was he advocating for a continuation of this liaison? What had been in the drinks last night? "And we have already let the cat out of the bag, might as well use it to catch a mouse."

Eslingen looked like he was going to relent, and so Rathe added, "Besides which, wouldn’t it be even more suspicious if you came home at this hour? You’re known to be very charming and polite, and sneaking out before dawn is neither."

Eslingen took a step towards Rathe, then stopped, because the hallway was narrow and he wouldn’t be able to pass by without touching Rathe. "You’re right," he said. "I’m sorry. I wanted to go before you told me that this was a mistake. I don’t want it to be a mistake."

"Good," Rathe said. "We’re agreed, then. It wasn’t a mistake. If you want to prove it to me, there’s potatoes and eggs for breakfast, and if you’re very lucky, some sliced bacon on the side."

"Good, solid food? And here b’Estorr tried to convince me you never eat." Eslingen smiled, and while it was still a bit wobbly, it was a very good effort.

Rathe managed to coax him back into the kitchen, and then tried to peel his potatoes. Eslingen watched him suffer for a few minutes. "I can peel the potatoes, if you can find me that piece of bacon," he offered finally, and Rathe gladly took him up on that offer.

Soon, the ingredients were sizzling merrily on the oven in the kitchen, and Eslingen and Rathe sat down opposite each other. It was awkward, just like Rathe had suspected it would be. Eslingen still looked beautiful across the breakfast table, though, and that was plenty. Eslingen asked about the coat, and Rathe told him about engaging the services of Asheri, in the interest of getting her to accept some money for her application to the seamstress’ academy.

"The coat is very beautiful," Eslingen admitted. "I almost didn’t recognise you."

Rathe laughed. "It’s not very me, is it? I felt scared touching it, to be quite honest."

"If you want to give it to someone who will appreciate it more fully, I’d love the address of your sewing girl, I’m sure she’d alter it for me," Eslingen said, and batted his eyelashes exaggeratedly.

Rathe smiled at him in amusement, but kept the secret of his sewing girl. There were some secrets needed in any relationship, even if they were just going to be friends. Yes, he’d probably end up seeing Eslingen again, and he couldn’t feel any regrets about that.  


After that, the next time Rathe saw Eslingen was at the points station. Rathe had collected the ratty coat that drew plenty of unwelcome stares from multiple people at the station— Voillemin because he said it smelled, Monteia because she had wanted him to get a new one, and Asheri because she knew he had a perfectly well tailored one hanging in the closet in his apartment. The only one he felt for was Asheri, but he’d ask her if she could imagine him running around in a coat like that every day, and she’d admitted that she couldn’t.

Eslingen was talking to her right now, and Rathe stopped to nod a hello to them both.

"Doesn’t it hurt your heart when you see him in that ratty coat?" Eslingen asked her quietly, and it was just barely audible to Rathe. He hesitated in his strides, and turned back.

"So you did see the other one!" Asheri shouted, then clasped both of her hands in front of her mouth in horror.

"Very beautiful," Eslingen said, and smiled reassuringly at her. "A work of art, really."

"If he asks you to tailor him something," Rathe said drily to Asheri. "Demand market price. You should know that Eslingen gets his pay from a criminal, and you should milk him for all that he’s worth."

Eslingen smiled, if possible, even wider. "You should listen to Rathe, Asheri, that way you don’t follow in his footsteps. He’s very good at advice he doesn’t think to follow himself. So how about it? Do you feel up to making me a shirt, even if I pay with money I got from alleged criminals?"

Asheri squeaked out a small, "Sure, I’d love to!" then held both hands in front of her face again. Rathe could only smile at Eslingen helplessly.

 


End file.
